


Hallucination

by llorolalluvia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13747992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llorolalluvia/pseuds/llorolalluvia
Summary: Hermione only wanted to see what the Potions Master was working on so late at night. She never could have guessed what he would do if he thought that she was nothing more than a simple... Hallucination.





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione tiptoed down the steps of 12 Grimmauld at a wary pace. The boards were old and any wrong step might alert the other inhabitants to her nightly wandering. Or worse, they could wake Mrs. Black.

It had been a long summer day, full of cleaning and not much else. Hermione knew, even if no one else had noticed, that Mrs. Weasley was only trying to keep them occupied. The War was approaching; they could feel it. It hung at the edges of their awareness, no matter the happiness of the day, and everything seemed to point toward its inevitability. This year would be their seventh at Hogwarts, but the way things were looking, they might not make it there at all. Voldemort had plans for the school this year, according to Snape, and it would not do to walk into his trap.

Snape had been about the house quite often over the last few weeks. He'd even taken up a room of his own at the top of the stairs. That was odd enough, as he had avoided the house at all costs in the past. Of course, it was different now with Sirius gone. The two had hated one another. But the Potions Master also hated Harry—any blind man could tell you that—and yet here he stayed. Hermione supposed it was a matter of urgency; his constant, secretive Potions work in a room just off the basement kitchen. He'd established a sort of makeshift lab and had been experimenting day and night, only leaving the cramped space for meals (if then) and only allowing the Headmaster to enter.

Perhaps it was this which drew Hermione down into the depths of Grimmauld so late at night. She had been unable to sleep. A pair of obsidian eyes haunted her restless slumber as she tossed about on the narrow bed. It had been earlier this very day; at supper. Severus Snape, the formidable Potions Master, the ex-Death Eater spy, the Greasy Git, the Bat of the Dungeons… (the list went on and on, and every bit of it seemed another reason to make the following impossible)… had actually  _smiled_  at her. True, it had been a wary sort of smirk, a weak twitch at the corner of his mouth that no other would have noticed... but she had seen the amusement in his eyes; dark, focused obsidian eyes that stared into the depths of her soul with such calculated interest that her heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach and her mouth had run dry. How had she never noticed before what an intriguing person the Potion Master was? And yet… hadn't she? His erudite vocabulary, his extensive book collection, his vast knowledge and obviously intellectual inclinations… oh yes, she had admired him. But never in such a way as this.

It had been a simple joke; something or other about Harry's penchant for getting himself into trouble. She couldn't even remember what she'd said. But somehow, in that moment, she'd connected with the Professor in a way she never could have imagined he'd allow. It teased that long-repressed desire to have his approval and kept her up all night, uncomfortable beneath her sheets. She had to see him.

And so she made her way through the house, bare feet caressing the ancient wood of the staircase as she clung to the banister, desperate not to make a sound. If anyone would hear, it would be  _him_ , and that just would not do.

The first impulse to flee—to give up this foolish quest—arose within her at the sight of a light beyond his half-closed door. It was so unlike the practiced spy to keep a door open. But perhaps the sweltering heat of Potion-brewing in summer—so unlike the constant chill of the Hogwarts dungeons—was enough to break the rule of habit. Her heart began to flutter with nerves that made no real sense to her at all. Sure, the man had a history of provoking fear in young Gryffindors, but this was an entirely unprecedented anxiety.

And yet, she found herself moving closer and closer to that half-open door, still at a loss for anything to say. The closer she came, the more definite it was that any moment he would know that she was there. By the time she reached the entrance, there was no turning back.

Through the gap between the door and its frame, she watched the Potions Master as he scribbled across a lengthy sheet of parchment. He knew that she was there; of that she had no doubt. For a long moment, she could do nothing but watch as he finished up his note-taking and slowly unbent his considerable height to meet her gaze. "Miss Granger," he greeted in a not-unfriendly tone that sent her heart pounding desperately in her chest. His trademark robes and long frock coat were gone, hung in a corner strategically out of the way, leaving a plain white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, revealing his Dark Mark. Hermione tried not to stare. She had never seen the Mark in person before, and was surprised that the ex-Death Eater showed no shame in letting it be seen. "I suppose I should not be surprised to see you here."

Hermione's eyes jumped to his at that. Odd. Why shouldn't he be surprised? Had he expected her to come? "I couldn't sleep," she confessed, not knowing what else to say. "I saw your light."

"Hmmm," her Professor murmured, bending to scribble something on his parchment. "So we're taking a realistic approach."

Hermione's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Nothing," he told her, looking up from his notes once again. "So tell me, Miss Granger, what brings you here, tonight?"

Hermione shrugged. His open demeanor made her feel more at ease and she seemed to relax instinctively. "Curiosity, I suppose," she admitted with a shy smile. He merely nodded and scribbled more on the parchment before him.

"True to your character," he muttered, almost to himself. She had to grin.

"What are you working on?" she dared to ask. He was being so remarkably and uncharacteristically open with her tonight.

"Would you care to see?" He gestured for her to enter and Hermione took full advantage, eagerly skirting her way around his makeshift workbench to stand beside the Potions Master. Familiar, spidery writing covered page after page of notes, scattered across the broken wooden surface. She immediately identified the ingredients page for an experimental potion that Professor Snape seemed still to be creating. Several of the ingredients and amounts had been crossed out, changed, or relocated with ample notes for every step of the process. It was a jumbled mess, not at all like her own preferred organized manner, but it was beautiful all the same. This was a genius at work and he was allowing her to witness his discovery. It was beyond exciting. "Can you guess what it is?" he asked her, seeming (beneath his hard exterior) almost as excited as she was.

Hermione reviewed the ingredients. Infusion of wormwood, seeds of anise, fennel, Extract of  _Coffea Arabica_ , Essence of Sonoran Desert Toad, a sprig of peppermint, and a dash of nutmeg ' _for good measure.'_  She considered the list for a long minute before replying. "It's some sort of daydream potion, isn't it? Something like Fred and George's invention."

To her great astonishment, Snape laughed lightly at that; a deep, rumbling chuckle that made her cheeks warm pleasantly. "It is true that I conceived the idea after studying their product. I found it brilliant, actually. But this goes a step farther than that. To render the subject completely oblivious to his own surroundings; convinced that the story playing out in his head is reality…" Hermione shivered at the realization that this potion was meant for Voldemort, himself. "Of course, I've had quite a bit of trouble with the proportions of various ingredients. It is no simple trick to give someone a dream while keeping them awake. Every detail must be entirely realistic; not the least of which… is touch." At this, to Hermione's shocked exhilaration, her Professor lifted a hand to her face and brushed the skin of her cheek with his knuckles in the slightest whisper of a caress.

She lost the ability to think.

When Hermione's mind returned to her, she noticed the troubled furrow of her Professor's brow. Suddenly, his hand was cupping her face as he leaned down toward her, staring deep into her eyes with the same calculating intensity as before. Hermione forgot to breathe. Then, just as suddenly, he was pulling away, scribbling frantically on another piece of parchment. Hermione stepped closer for a better look. Toward the top of the parchment, one note immediately caught her eye: ' _multicolored bear pajamas,'_  it read. Indeed, she was wearing a set of rather vibrant teddy-bear adorned pajamas, but why had he written it down? Upon closer inspection, the note was scribbled under a broader bullet point that read ' _Details I never would have imagined on my own_.' Well, that certainly was odd, wasn't it?

Before she had much of a chance to consider that new information, Professor Snape had taken her chin in his hand and was staring into her eyes, once again. His concentration unnerved her and she suddenly had the uncomfortable realization that he didn't even realize that he was violating her personal space. He had taken the potion, hadn't he? And he believed her to be nothing more than a hallucination. The thought unnerved and embarrassed her, making her feel like an intrusion into his private sanctuary. After all, he hadn't ever actually intended to invite her in. If he knew that it truly was her, what would he do? How would he behave? She was too afraid to correct him.

And yet, every scribbled note on his disorganized parchment made guilt throb inside of her. ' _Use of extra anise allows for realistic touch,_ ' one note read. But that wasn't really so. She was interfering with his methodical experiment. She was confusing his data. But then he was running his fingers across the soft skin of her face and pushing them back through the loose curls of her hair, and Hermione knew that she could never tell him the truth.

He would never forgive her.

Hermione knew the instant that her Professor's interest changed, like the flip of a switch, from a purely academic endeavor to something more… instinctual. There was a flash of recognition in his eyes and he set down his quill, lifting his free hand to her face and running a rough finger along the crease of her lips. Hermione had to stifle her gasp as heat pooled deep in her belly and a knot began to form inside of her, begging for release. Surely he couldn't be… but then… he was. Severus Snape bent toward her, his breath fanning across her face in quick waves of hot, moist air. She could taste his excitement a moment before his mouth touched hers.

The pressure was frantic and needy and Hermione knew that she ought to correct the man before this went any farther, but she couldn't bring herself to break away now that she had him here. His mouth was softer than anyone could ever imagine the Potions Master's mouth would be, and his desire was palpable as he tasted her swelling lips. She panted into his mouth as his tongue darted out to tease her own, desperate in its impatient hunger. Then, just as quickly, he broke away, returning to his notes and brushing the sweat from his brow.

"All senses engaged," he murmured distractedly, "No longer following predictable behavior."

This was her chance; Hermione felt it in her very core. This was the moment for her to flee back to the safe confines of her bedroom. Tomorrow, she could pretend it never happened.

But she could not seem to leave.

The moment passed and the Potions Master turned back toward her, dropping his quill and meeting her gaze with a hungry expression. She had never seen such intensity from anyone and it made something burn inside of her. She was addicted to this heat. He stepped toward her, never letting his eyes move away, and his mere proximity made her sigh aloud in desperation. She was entirely at his disposal. And she'd never felt more alive.

Then his eyes dipped lower, travelling down her neck and coming to rest on the soft swells of her breasts beneath the nightshirt that she wore. Hermione watched as he lifted his hands to her flesh and she whimpered with need as he cupped her gently, massaging her little orbs in his big hands and letting his eyes fall closed in heady concentration. She had never felt this burning need before, but knew he must be feeling it too, if his slack jaw and almost pained expression were any indication. She wondered what he was going to do with her, but couldn't bring herself to be afraid. He  _wanted_  her. That much was clear. And Hermione found that nothing else mattered at all.

His eyes flew open without warning and one hand came up to cup her face, teasing the crease of her lips with his thumb. She parted them for him with a gasp, glorifying in the way he groaned aloud. The sound mirrored her own arousal and only seemed to amplify it. Then, he slipped a finger between her lips, testing her tongue, and she instinctively closed her mouth around it, sucking on the callused digit. Snape growled with arousal, squeezing her breast with his free hand before dropping it to the front of his trousers. Hermione knew a moment's alarm as he swiftly undid the buttons there. She was too afraid to look as he withdrew his shaft from those tight confines and began to stroke himself as he pushed his finger against her tongue. He groaned aloud and Hermione's heart clenched at the thought that she was bringing him pleasure. Oh yes, it was  _far_  too late to admit the truth, now.

Suddenly, her Professor's eager hands were at her shoulders, pushing her slowly down onto her knees. He met her gaze and pushed her hair from the sides of her face in an almost affectionate gesture before reaching for his considerable erection and positioning it at the opening of her mouth. She only had the barest moment to study it, however, before the surprisingly soft tip was pushed between her teeth. Her professor groaned aloud, visibly shaken by the pleasure she was giving him. Hermione found it deliciously empowering, despite her lack of control in the situation. The whole affair was so surreal. His hands twisted in her hair, holding her still as he slowly pushed the rest of his hard length into her mouth. When he pulled out, it was only to thrust back in again. Harder and harder he pressed against her until it began to hurt and she found it difficult to breathe. Then, suddenly, he yanked away from her, bracing himself with one hand on the workbench and clenching his eyes in an expression of fierce concentration.

"Oh Merlin," he murmured in a hoarse voice. Then his eyes popped open and he stepped away from her. For a moment, Hermione was confused. Was it over? Was he done? But then he beckoned for her to stand, and helped lift her to her feet. In a moment, she was draped over the workbench and he had stepped behind her. Hermione's breath came quick and shallow as she tried to remain calm. There was no going back, she told herself. There was no stopping what he seemed about to do. And yet, some secret part of her that she was reluctant to accept didn't want him to stop at all.

Both her fear and her anticipation grew in waves of heat as he slipped her pajama pants down her legs, allowing them to pool in cotton puddles at her feet. He stripped her of her shirt, just for good measure, and pressed himself behind her at the bench. Hermione gasped at the feel of his flesh hot against her own, but she moaned when he reached around to cup her breasts, pinching the little nipples and squeezing her rather too roughly for her tastes. Indeed, she had no control. Then he reached a hand between them, stroking the sensitive flesh between her legs and Hermione whimpered into the stillness of the room.

"Gods, you're so wet," he whispered, seemingly unable to put voice to his words. There was a sharp pain as he pressed a finger inside of her and then a heavy pleasure as he twisted it just the right way. Hermione gasped and he rocked against her, apparently as excited by this as she was. "So  _tight,_ " he moaned, almost incoherently. "A virgin.  _Gods._  Even better than the real thing."

He withdrew his finger in a surge of wet heat and Hermione felt something larger at her entrance. She would probably regret losing her virginity this way, but at the moment, she simply couldn't care. All she knew was the feel of her professor close behind her; his approval throbbing in her core with molten intensity. She wanted him to touch her more.

And then, with one swift thrust, he was inside her. Hermione cried out in pain she had not expected to be so sharp, but the thought was quickly overwhelmed by the realization that Professor Snape was inside of her; touching her; enjoying her; fucking her. He moaned in feral pleasure, rocking softly against her. She knew it was not in order to be gentle, as he believed her to be a hallucination, but rather in order to enjoy every sensation and not to let it end too swiftly. The thought aroused her to no end.

For a few solid minutes, his pace was agonizingly slow. Every little movement seemed to tease the fire deep within her, kindling hot passion that drove her wild. She needed to feel more of him. And slowly, he began to comply.

The Potions Master's steady thrusts grew increasingly vehement and impatient and soon he seemed to lose control, pounding into her with a force that made her cry out in painful ecstasy. Surge after surge of fiery pleasure poured through her body as he sought his release against her skin. Hermione wanted to savor every detail, storing it away for later perusal. Nothing would ever be quite the same after this.

When his thrusts grew harsh and frantic, Hermione instinctively knew that he was on the brink of orgasm. And when he gave one last thrust and cried out into the empty room, pressing against her with desperate force, Hermione knew that he had come. For a long moment, he simply stayed there, hovering above her and behind, caressing the sensitized skin of her back with his hot breath as her mind sought to make sense of what had just occurred. When he pulled out of her, hot liquid spilled across her swollen flesh and Hermione had a sudden urge to cry and sleep cradled in his arms. The feeling left her hollow as his absence deep inside her, but now was not the time for such weakness.

He could never know.

When at last she found the strength to lift herself from the workbench and replace her discarded pajamas, Hermione found the Professor once again scribbling frantically at his parchment. An expression of deepest disgust was imbedded across his features and she hated the look of it upon his face. He couldn't regret this. If he regretted it, then that would leave it open for her to regret as well. But it was too late for that. It had happened. She had done it. And she wasn't sorry at all.

"Is that all?" he asked her in a spiteful voice. "Have you something else with which to torment me?" It was remarkable how quickly he'd returned to his normal, malicious self.

"No," she told him in a weak voice. It was all she could get out before her throat seemed to constrict, cutting off further explanation.

"Then perhaps it would be best if you returned to your bed." He wasn't meeting her eye and Hermione was amazed to see the level of guilt he exhibited. Especially for a man with such a history as his, this self-loathing was beyond disturbing.

"Alright, Professor," she murmured weakly, turning to leave him to his thoughts. "Goodnight." But her professor did not respond, and Hermione made her way up to her bed alone. Lying there in the darkness, she found she could not sleep. Professor Snape, the Bat of the Dungeons, the ex-Death Eater spy, had just shared something truly remarkable with her.

And he could never know.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione's bedroom slowly imposed itself upon her as fuzzy visions of potions and professors melted from her mind. It was morning and she had slept quite soundly through the night. A nice change from her recent restlessness. The realization caught her all at once with a heavy jolt in the pit of her stomach.  _Oh gods._ Had it been a dream?  _No._  It had actually happened. Pressing her hands to her face, she groaned in embarrassment as images began to flash behind her eyes.  _What was I thinking?!_   _He's going to know!_

Dragging herself from the bed, she began readying herself for the day, and slowly her guilt and embarrassment faded in the light of something else. It was difficult to name, but fell somewhere between exhilaration and triumph. Professor Snape had taken her virginity last night, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. It had happened. He had been closer to her than her own skin. And she had been just as close to him.

But thrilled as she was, Hermione was still afraid to make her way down to breakfast.  _He_  would probably be there, and she wasn't quite ready to pretend nothing had happened. He would only have to look at her and the blushing and giggling would give it all away.

Every step down the interminable staircase was another heavy beat of her heart as she prepared herself for the moment she would see him. How did she normally greet the surly professor? Did she say 'good morning,' or just smile at him? Did she ignore him, altogether? If she normally greeted him, would he be suspicious if she didn't today? And if she usually ignored him, what would he think if she told him 'hello'?  _Argh!_  It was a disaster!

With one last deep breath and a pounding heart she stepped into the basement kitchen… only to see that he wasn't there. The usual crowd was milling about, filling plates from the various pots and pans Mrs. Weasley had sizzling on the stove. Harry had taken his usual place beside Sirius and beckoned for her to sit beside him. She sighed, relieved and disappointed, and went to prepare her own breakfast before joining her friend.

It was a cheery morning, full of chatter that Hermione didn't hear as she worked her way through a breakfast she hardly tasted. Ron was late, as usual, and piled his plate full, she was sure, before taking the place opposite Harry. She barely registered his appearance, glancing over him mechanically as her mind thrummed with one repeated question:  _where is he?_

She finished her breakfast before anyone else and slipped out of her chair to take the empty plate to the sink. It was then he appeared in the doorway; a shadow of her doubts jolting her senses even from her peripheral. And she stopped for him. But he had stopped for her. So she began to move again. And he did too, as she had stopped for him. So she stopped again, and he gestured for her to pass with a grandiose—yet clearly impatient—gesture of his hand. She hesitated, feeling a flush flaring to life in her face, but he just waited, and finally she stepped past him, feeling like a complete arse.

As she rinsed the nearly immaculate plate in the sink—a completely unnecessary task in a magical household, but habits die hard—her very skin seemed to crawl with awareness of his position in the room. He was so quiet, slipping through the chatter like a draught of cool air on a summer day. By the time Hermione realized that she had practically washed her plate by hand, she seemed to have forgotten how to walk. Returning to the table was a clumsy challenge and she had to focus all her attention on not looking like a fool. Sitting, in itself, was an accomplishment.  _Have I gone mad?_  She asked herself.  _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Professor Snape was sitting at the far end of the long table on the side opposite hers. Not that she had looked. She was having a hard enough time remembering what to do with her face while she pretended to listen to Ron. It was a minute or two before she realized that she wouldn't normally be nodding at him quite so much, especially considering the topic was, apparently (and unsurprisingly), Quidditch. Finally, feeling like a fool as she tried to remember what on earth people did with their hands, Hermione decided that it was past time she left the little kitchen. She murmured an excuse to the boys and slipped out of her chair, allowing her eyes to scan the faces opposite her and flitting across Snape's face faster than anyone else's. But he was not looking at her. He was glaring down at his plate as he methodically worked through his breakfast, seeming in a fouler mood than she'd seen in quite some time. Even just that tiny glimpse had her heart hammering painfully and she found herself suddenly breathless.

But breathing could wait as she finally gave in to the impulse to flee the kitchen and sprint to the safety of her bedroom.

…*~*J*~*…

Severus's throbbing headache might have been a product of the angry tension in his shoulders as he fought the urge to slam his forehead repeatedly against the kitchen table. It had been his aim, in recent years, never to give himself more cause for self-disgust. He had enough regrets to atone for without adding to the list. And yet, last night, he had given in to the temptation of an unsolicited fantasy that left him loathing himself for the lecherous scum that he was. The fact that he had slept through the night for the first time in recent memory only angered him more. If the girl knew what he had imagined…

But it had been more than that; perhaps that was why it bothered him so. Merely imagining the girl naked and behaving in such a way would not feel nearly as much like a violation of her person. It was almost as if he had used her; as if it had actually happened. And he had no right to feel that way.

Even if it wasn't truly her, the fact that he could picture it so perfectly in his mind—how soft and tight and wet she was; how her tongue had felt against his cock—made him feel as if he had intimate knowledge of the girl that he never should have had. He had hardly been able to look at her the entire time she'd been in the kitchen. It was even hard to congratulate himself for the achievement of creating such a potion without hating himself for the first use he'd found for it. And to top it all off, he could no longer hide from the attraction that he had been denying for quite some time.

Hermione Granger was, among so many things, quite unique. Not only had she started out annoyingly intellectually inclined, but she had only continued to lean farther and farther in that direction, even as age brought to her the gifts no one had ever expected her to attain. The girl who had once been entirely a bookworm had blossomed into a porcelain beauty; her natural allure untainted by the cheap attraction so commonly flaunted by girls her age. He would never say that Miss Granger drew the eye from across the room, but anyone who took a moment to truly look at her would find it hard ever to look away.

And he had been trying so hard not to admit it for quite some time.

Severus had not been surprised when she had come to him last night. As often as he had attempted not to think of her at all, it was only to be expected that she would manifest herself in his hallucinations. In that way, he had finally been unable to push her out of mind, and had been forced to confront his feelings for her. Apparently, that meant fucking her imaginary brains out. Perhaps the most painful part of it was the connection that he craved so deeply he had almost felt it. That sentiment was far more dangerous than lust and far less likely ever to be satisfied.

Yes still there was a part of him lingering in the back of his mind—pushing against his powerful mental shields—that wanted it to happen again tonight.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione paced back and forth across the length of her bedroom. Every time she headed toward the door, she considered another option, and as she reached the door each time she lost her nerve and twisted on her heel. How had she not considered this before now? She had been so caught up in the more immediate implications of her actions that she hadn't even taken a moment to consider the longer term. That was so unlike her! And now that she had, it was all she could do to keep from panicking.

_Breathe, Hermione. One, two, three. Breathe. It will be alright. You will figure this out. Oh gods! What if I'm pregnant!?_

She could go to Ginny. The younger girl had more experience with these things and might have exactly the answer she needed.  _But_ … Hermione turned on her heel…  _how the hell would I explain it to her?_  Telling her friend that she had slept with someone within the past 24 hours would narrow the potential candidates down to Harry, Snape, or a Weasley. The girl would want details that Hermione was  _not_  prepared to divulge.

 _I could confess to Snape._  The Potions Master would certainly know what to do, and he sort of had a right to know, anyway. Besides, his experiment had been tampered with and the results were, therefore, void. It was her responsibility as a member of the Order of the Phoenix and as a decent human being with respect for academic discovery to enlighten her Professor.  _But can I face him?_  She turned on her heel.

…*~*J*~*…

That night, Severus waited even longer before joining the others for dinner. Part of him was busy reading about hallucinogenic potions and part of him was dreading being in the same room with  _her._ But surprisingly, by the time he made it into the kitchen, she was not there. It was a lucky thing, too, for the only two empty places were directly beside one another at the corner of the table. He would have been bumping elbows with her.

Unfortunately for Severus, Miss Granger had actually been later than he was, for reasons unknown. When she finally made an appearance, he did his best to ignore her very existence as she clumsily slipped into the seat beside him. It was as if someone had zapped him with an  _Electro_  curse. Every muscle in his body was tense, acutely aware of her proximity to him. Hadn't he had enough time to forget last night's foolish fantasies? Apparently not. Two minutes after the girl had positioned herself beside him, he was hard and aching for more of her touch. Every brush of her arm against his, which she seemed to avoid as much as he did (much to his self-despising disgust), made his cock jump in eager anticipation. He was only too anxious to escape back into his lab, once his plate had been cleared, and lock himself away from the menace.

Only a moment's consideration was allowed before Severus bowed to the growing pressure in his breeches and gulped down a vial of the potion. At the moment, he didn't care how disgusted he'd be with himself tomorrow. He would do anything to have her here with him again.

And so he waited.

And he waited.

And he read his book. Or, rather, he stared at the pages of his book, adamant that he would use the time between imbibing the potion and reliving the fantasy to further his research. But he learned nothing as he waited. And waited. And waited.

…*~*J*~*…

Every time Hermione decided she should go to her Professor, she lost her nerve to do so. But every time she made it just a little farther down the staircase. Scenario after scenario spun through her mind; his anger, possible repercussions, embarrassment, shame, disbelief, a child with Professor Snape. It was too much for her to bear. Stress seemed to pool in the pit of her stomach like acid fire, twisting her gut with nervous anxiety. She certainly had gotten herself into a pickle with this one.

…*~*J*~*…

Several times, Severus considered giving up the wait and falling back on good, old fashioned imagination. But every time he reached for the front of his trousers, disgust welled up inside of him and he had to drop his hands. How was it so difficult for him to think about the girl in such a way after the vivid hallucination he'd had of her last night?

Hours passed before Severus was sure that something was not right. He had taken a dose from the exact same batch as the night before, yet so far it had had no effect. None of the ingredients were susceptible to weakening over time—indeed, several of them tended to grow stronger—so it could not be that the potion had merely lost its potency. So, what could be the cause? For the longest time, he attempted to find some clue that might be hidden in one of the many texts scattered around the room, but his concentration continued to be distracted by the disappointed erection still pressing eagerly against the fabric of his trousers. Hours later, despite his better judgment, Severus took another dose of the potion, still desperately hoping that it would work its magic upon him tonight.

It was nearly dawn when he finally accepted that the night had been a waste; another good excuse to hate himself. There was nothing left for it but to slip into a cold shower on his way up to bed. He would try again tomorrow, and no more foolishness. It would be better to push Granger from his mind.

And so he tidied up the little lab and resigned himself to another restless night, struggling for the slumber his body craved. The climb to his bedroom was a tedious one and not for the first time he found himself wishing he had chosen any room other than the one at the very top of the stairs.

He was almost upon her before he registered that she was there. The look of shock and horror upon her face did not discourage the sudden excitement that swelled inside of him at the sight of her. And yet, for a moment, he hesitated. This could be the real girl and not a fantasy at all. But then he saw the bears on her pajama pants, identical to the ones she had worn last night, and he knew.

He was about to close the distance between them and cover her body with his own when she stood up and cleared her throat. "Hello, Professor." Something in her voice gave him pause; she sounded frightened. Oh, dear Merlin, was this his subconscious's way of addressing the guilt he felt about the night before?

"Hello," he echoed, deciding to humor this vision.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," she admitted, lifting her chin in a proud gesture that belied her self-assurance. The girl was terrified. "I'm concerned because…" she dropped her eyes to the ground, suddenly fascinated by the woodwork on the stairs, "…because we didn't use any sort of contraception last night and… well… obviously, the last thing either of us needs right now is another complication."

Severus almost laughed. Of all the regrets festering inside of him, contraception had never once been a consideration. The concern seemed so unbidden, so completely at odds with his own preoccupations that Severus wished he had brought his notebook with him to record this curiosity for later contemplation. But the spy had a great deal of practice retaining information and note-taking was a luxury he could rarely afford.

"Please, Professor," the vision of Miss Granger continued when no answer was forthcoming, "what should I do?"

"Forgive me, Miss Granger," Severus told the girl, "I confess that such precautions quite escaped my attention. You were quite an…  _unexpected_  distraction." He watched as the girl's mouth fell open and her eyes dilated with the suggestion in his tone. Perhaps if he cleared up this little mental blockade he would be able to enjoy this vision as he had the last.

Miss Granger shook her head, as if to throw off a distracting thought. "Is there something that can be done now?" she asked, ever the perseverant know-it-all. "In the Muggle world, there are pills for retroactive contraception that can be taken within 24 hours… Surely there must be an equivalent in the Magical world."

Severus nodded. "A  _Contraceptus_  Charm can be administered before or after intercourse and will be effective in preventing conception as long as a fertilized egg has not yet been implanted in the Uterus." The girl's face paled and she leaned against the banister in a gesture of sudden weakness. "Fortunately, there is a diagnostic spell that would allow me to determine if implantation has occurred even as early as this very moment."

Granger's eyes jumped to his and he could see her desperation. "Could you show me?" She must have taken his hesitation for refusal, for she reached out and gripped his wrist in one of her tiny hands. "Please, Professor. I need to know."

Severus smiled and gestured for the girl to continue up the stairs. "First," he told her, "we will need to get out of the hallway."

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione was far too busy keeping a panic attack at bay to register excitement as the Potions Master led her into his bedroom. His easy manner from the moment she'd seen him on the stairs made her sure that he did not believe her to be real. It was better that way; she'd been able to confront him without explaining her actions from the night before. Really, she couldn't have dreamt of a better solution.

Professor Snape closed and warded the door, gesturing for Hermione to lie down across his bed. She complied readily, her senses completely consumed with the anxiety of not knowing the truth. But another sort of nervousness pushed past that wall of fear as her professor reached for the hem of her nightshirt, slowly exposing the skin of her stomach. She could see the hunger in his eyes. Snape took his time, pressing the tip of his wand to her navel and murmuring an incantation under his breath. The tip glowed blue and Hermione felt a jolt of fear, not knowing what that might mean. The practiced spy gave nothing away as he stowed his wand back in his sleeve and leaned over her, meeting her eye. "You are not pregnant." A rush of relief swept through her and all her muscles seemed to relax at once as she collapsed back against the pillows.  _I'm not pregnant._  It was as if she'd woken from a terrible dream.

And then she remembered and lifted her head to see him staring at her naked skin. "You still need to perform the  _Contraceptus_  Charm," she reminded him.

Her professor met her eyes. "Of course," he murmured in a voice like the purr of a cat. Hermione shivered as her professor placed a hand on her stomach, spreading his fingers across her naked flesh. He kept his eyes locked on hers and didn't say a word as warmth poured from his palm into her abdomen and all she could think was how smooth her professor was and how he clearly had a great deal of practice with this Charm. "That will take care of the last 24 hours," he told her, "…as well as the following." His words were like a spark to the kindling she had gathered inside of her. All of the excitement and anticipation that had built up since last night caught fire in a surge of aching need. And as her professor leaned over her, Hermione couldn't stifle a whimper.

His lips caught hers as his hand rubbed circles on her stomach and Hermione moaned. It didn't matter that he believed she wasn't here. That only meant that she was seeing what he didn't want her to know. And as his tongue teased her lips apart and swept into her mouth to rub against her own, Hermione could no longer worry about justifying her actions as she was no longer capable of thought at all. His hand slipped beneath the nightshirt and sought her breast, cupping her and squeezing her tenderly as he devoured her mouth. He pinched her little nipple, rubbing the mound of swollen flesh beneath his palm before sliding those agile fingers down her eager body and slipping beneath the bears of her pajama pants.

Hermione gasped aloud as his fingers found her entrance, teasing the little bundle of nerves that she had hardly known was there. He slipped one digit inside of her and gently stroked it back and forth until she was bucking beneath his hand. She felt she might burst with sensation at any moment. And it was all too much to bear.

His mouth broke away from hers with a gasp and he stripped off her pajamas before climbing onto the bed. Hermione moaned aloud at his apparent arousal, longing for the feel of him between her legs. But the Potions Master had other things in mind. Ripping off her nightshirt, he hovered above her before lowering his mouth to the flesh of her throat and tasting her with one long, savoring bite. Hermione groaned and arched against the mattress as his head dipped down to taste her collar bone. Down and down her body he went, sucking a nipple between his teeth as he filled his hand with her other breast, worshiping her almost too roughly for her tastes. When her professor darted his tongue out to tickle the soft skin of her navel, Hermione's hands reached instinctively into his hair.

And then he was dipping lower, burying his nose in the curls between her legs, and Hermione felt the first flush of shame. It quickly evaporated, however, at the sound of his feral growl. And then he was kissing her there, testing her flesh with the tip of his tongue before lowering himself farther and thrusting that wet heat into her core. Hermione cried out as a pool of fire seemed to trickle from within her, begging him for more. He brought his fingers to her entrance and pressed the flat of his hot, wet tongue against that little bud of pleasure, groaning against her aching flesh. She could hardly seem to breathe.

As he devoured her with his talented mouth, something was building deep inside. Every gentle stroke of his fingers seemed to make the fire of his kiss burn even more. Hot breath poured from his nose as his tongue dipped down to taste her center. Her breath grew short, her body grew tense, and there was a heavy tickle in her belly. As he laved the soft wetness of his tongue against that bud of nerves again, she wondered if this was how he'd felt when he'd thrust himself inside her mouth. The memory sent a shock of molten heat between her legs and something seemed to break apart, releasing a flood of sensation as she cried out with helpless abandon and bucked against his eager mouth. The academic buried deep inside of her was stunned at the realization that this was an orgasm even as hot pulses of electric pleasure drove coherent thought from the surface of her mind.

Before she'd had a chance to catch her breath, he was on top of her again, pressing his mouth against hers as he reached a hand between their legs. Hermione's chest throbbed in anticipation, knowing, now, what he would be feeling when he filled her with himself. This time, there was no pain, just a tightness and pressure that made her want to scream with mad exhilaration. He was inside of her again! And she met his mouth with a fierce passion, lifting her body to meet his as he began to rock against her.

…*~*J*~*…

Severus had never known such pleasure. The girl was wanton with desire,  _for him!_  He threw off the notion that this was not reality and allowed himself to think, for now, that she was really here. Hermione Granger had just come apart beneath his touch and he would never forget the way her voice resounded off the walls. Or the way she bucked beneath him, begging him with her body as he began to thrust against her. She was so tight, so wet, so wonderful. He'd relive his life of misery just to have her here like this again.

He didn't want to come. He wanted to continue on like this forever, pounding Hermione into the mattress. He didn't want to be consumed with guilt for what he'd done. He didn't want to confront the fact that this wasn't real. He would happily die inside of her right now, never reaching orgasm if it meant that he would never have to face the truth. But soon he was beyond control and he reached a hand into her hair, relishing the feel of her soft curls between his fingers. She whimpered when he met her eye and the world came apart in a surge of passion. Coming inside of her was like pouring out his soul in a wave of fiery pleasure. He stayed there, hovering over her, staring into her eyes, allowing the ripples to wash over him as every surge seemed to drain him even more and he finally collapsed onto the bed. Panting, he brushed the imminent guilt aside and focused on the growing temptation of sleep, succumbing to the darkness of exhaustion to avoid the bitter loneliness sure to crash down around him any moment.

But as he drifted off to sleep, she curled up in his arms, and he clung to her with fierce desperation, wishing that she never had to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Severus woke with his cheek against soft skin, sticky with sweat. The gentle rhythm of steady breathing slowly lifted and lowered his head where it rested between the girl's round breasts. Her legs were spread to either side of him and one hand rested against his upper arm.  _She is still here,_  he thought, squeezing his eyes shut lest this dream escape in the light of wakefulness. But as his mind became more and more aware, she did not disappear.  _Oh gods._  He had taken a double dose of that potion last night. Severus smiled and snuggled deeper into Hermione's embrace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if it would be possible to take so much of the potion that this vision never faded away.

His eyes snapped open with a jolt of self-awareness. Severus Snape knew what it was to be addicted to a potion. There were several variants of Dreamless Sleep and Pain Relieving potions that he could never take again for fear of relapse into that deep den of crushing helplessness. It would not do to develop an addiction to this one;  _especially not now._

And yet… lying here with Hermione beneath him in the semi-darkness of the dawn felt like a paradise he could hold onto forever; like a dream from which he would never wish to wake.

 _It is a lie._  The sight of the girl's bear pajamas on the floor only served to reinforce that fact. The real Hermione Granger would be disgusted to know what he had dreamed about her. Self-loathing seeped into the pit of his stomach. He should rip himself away immediately and never look back. But she was so inviting. Maybe if he promised himself never to take the potion again… he could live out the last effects of his last dose and enjoy this for the moment.

Stirring slowly, Severus Snape nuzzled the soft mound of Hermione's breast, tasting the salt of her skin like the last bite of a summer peach. The girl arched into his touch, moaning as sleep fell away from her.  _What a vivid imagination I have._  She seemed to realize all at once and her head jerked up to glance down at him, but Severus merely dragged a hand up to her breast and brought a nipple into his mouth. She gasped happily at that, allowing her head to fall back onto the pillow and reaching her fingers into his hair. He groaned at the sensation and pressed his erection into the mattress.

The whimper that escaped the girl at his lazy ministrations sent a shock of desire down his spine. It would be hard to leave this reprieve in the past, but he would be happy just to remember that once it had been his. Perhaps that was the hardest part about it all; for the first time in a long time, he was actually happy.

Hermione wrapped her legs about his torso and Severus growled. Pulling himself level with her, he met her mouth with a tender kiss.  _This is 'goodbye,'_  he realized, and passion blossomed within him to be poured into the caress. He cupped her face in his and tasted the softness of her mouth with his tongue. And all the while, she ran her fingers across his back, holding him close and seeming to savor the feeling of his skin.

When Severus pushed inside of her, she was so wet that he wanted nothing more than to hammer into her until he came. But this was a moment to cherish. This was the last he would have of Hermione Granger; not that he had ever really had her at all. But that was a thought for later. For now, there was only bliss.

The girl gasped and sighed beneath him as he slowly pressed against her. He would do anything to watch her come apart again. With that thought to drive him, Severus brought a hand between their bodies and teased her tender flesh as he rocked against her. Soon she was bucking beneath him, gasping and whimpering with desperation as he felt his own desire growing frantic with acute need. He wrapped an arm beneath her neck and buried his face in the thick curls of her famous bushy hair, inhaling the fragrance of the girl he wanted so desperately. "Mmmmm," he murmured against her ear, "Hermione."

The girl gasped at that, bucking beneath him before arching her back and crying out into the darkness of the room. Severus was so caught off guard by her raw passion that a swell of pleasure immediately brought him to the cusp. He thrust erratically against her a few more times as his orgasm mounted then broke, bursting in harsh waves of intensity and pleasure as the vision wrung the passion from his body. He collapsed on top of her, gasping into the darkness of his bedchamber. Even feeling her beneath him, loneliness began to seep into his bones and his heart clenched painfully, mournful that he would never have her again.

But it was for the best.

When the girl lifted her hands to his hair and began to rake her fingers gently against his scalp, Severus knew that it was time to pull away. It would be easy to fall into this vision forever, but that would not do. "No," he told her sternly. "This cannot continue." Severus was not sure why he felt the need to explain himself to her. Perhaps it was an offshoot of his desire to believe that she was real.  _Pathetic._ "You are a tempting distraction, Hermione." His fingers whispered across the skin of her cheek in a gesture as soft and tender as the sound of her name on his lips. "I could easily forget myself with you, but the Order needs me. I cannot lose myself just now." Perhaps, if he survived the war, he would not begrudge himself a life of addiction to this sweet dream. He left the thought unsaid. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live," he told the girl, instead. Albus had told him that in the early years after Lily's death, when he had pined for her most desperately. It would be just as easy to languish in this dream until the end of his days, but he could not allow himself to do it. "I will not call upon you again."

The girl opened her mouth as if to speak, but Severus cut her off with one finger across her lips. "Please, Hermione," he begged her, "I do not want to know what you have to say. You are only a dream. And I know what I must do." With that, he rose and slowly dressed, watching the play of emotions across the girl's sad face. When he finally turned away, it was 'goodbye' at last. He truly had no intention of ever revisiting this beautiful dream.

…*~*J*~*…

When the door closed behind him, Hermione collapsed back onto the bed with a weary sigh. What had she done? Everything had changed in the past two days. There was no going back. And yet, there was no going forward, either. She was stuck, as if in some terrible Purgatory, stranded between Heaven and Hell with no clear path to either side. How could she tell him now that everything he believed to be a lie was really true? She had deceived him in the worst way, but that had never been a conscious decision on her part. Maybe he would see that and understand. But at what cost? Severus Snape was a proud man, blanketed forever in a cloak of lies to protect his secrets. He would be humiliated that she had slipped past that shield and seen his most vulnerable side.

He would never forgive her.

But it was the truth. It had happened. No matter how angry he would be, no matter how much he would wish it weren't so, nothing could change the fact that it was true. He deserved to know, didn't he?

Hermione considered her options. If she never told him, he would never know. Life would continue on as it had before, as if nothing had ever transpired. He would not murder her for her deception, but neither would he ever confess the secrets she'd been shown. On the other hand, if she told him… he might hate her. He might kill her. He might shun her for the rest of her life. But at least he would know that the sentiment was reciprocated; that she wanted him, too. And if he died in the coming war, at least he would know that he wasn't alone. That he wasn't just a desperate man clinging to a beautiful dream. The scenes he revisited were not fantasies, but memories of true events. The girl that he remembered was more than a hallucination.

 _Oh gods._  Hermione pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, as if the gesture might push the problems from her mind. There was no decision, she realized. Her mind was already made up.

…*~*J*~*…

Severus stared down at the parchment scattered across his workbench. How was he to brew with his mind in such a state of turmoil? It was not the vision itself which tortured him now, but the truth it represented. After all these years and all of the lessons they had brought him, how had he allowed himself to make the same mistake again? Severus Snape was never meant to have love in his life. That was a fact he had always known. Sure, there had been times when he'd rebelled against that unhappy truth, but the punishment he had been served should have taught him the lesson by now.

When the kitchen outside of his little lab came alive with Weasleys, Severus reluctantly dragged himself away from his brooding. Perhaps a bit of tea and bacon would wake him up to the reality of his miserable life once more.

He ate in silence, hardly listening to the happy chatter all around him. In the aftermath of his decision to give up the dreams he'd had, it became more and more apparent that it was not the sex he craved. It was the companionship. Severus had forgotten what it felt like not to be alone, and now that crushing realization had fallen over him once more and he wasn't sure he could survive it all over again. Soon enough, he told himself, he'd grow accustomed to the silence of his life once more and it would be as if nothing had ever disturbed his lonely calm. It would all be nothing more than a simple dream.

He was rinsing his plate in the old kitchen sink when the first 'morning, Hermione' met his ears. It made his chest heave with hollow desperation, but she could never know that. The real Hermione Granger was everything he'd dreamed she was, but meant for another man. She would laugh in his face if she knew that he felt anything more than disdain for her.

"Hermione, dear," he heard Molly say, "would you like me to bring you a plate?"

Severus's ears strained for her answer, if for no other reason than to hear her voice. "That's alright," the girl replied, sleepily, "I can manage." Glancing down at his hands, Severus realized that he had practically washed the dish he'd been rinsing. Past time he returned to his work, then. He set the plate in the sink and turned around just as Albus Dumbledore appeared in the doorway.

"Mmmm," the Headmaster hummed in approval at the scent of bacon and eggs in the air, "There's no better way to start the day than with a breakfast of your cooking, Molly."

"Oh Albus!" Molly swatted the air modestly, but her cheeks filled up with pink at the old man's words. "You flatter me," she told him. "Would you like me to fill a plate for you?"

"Not just yet," he waved her away, "I have business with my Potions Master. Severus?" The old wizard began towards the lab and gestured for his spy to follow. "I want to see what progress you have made." Severus nodded and began to follow without allowing himself even the tiniest glance at the girl who had been the subject of his visions. How he was going to explain his findings to the Headmaster, he did not know. Even the excitement he had felt at creating such a potion had been drained away by his withdrawal from  _her._

But then, as he neared the open door, suddenly she called to him. "Professor." It was a simple word, three syllables that meant nothing and everything at once. He could feel his body heating and his chest clenching horribly as he turned to look at her at last. But where he felt distressed she seemed emboldened and the others in the room looked on as she stood and stepped towards him in such a seemingly innocent way. Severus tried to throw off the impression that he had slept with this girl even as his eyes finally took in the bright fabric concealing those perfect legs. His breath caught.  _No. Could it be?_  The incriminating bear pajamas could not be explained away. A harsh knot twisted in his chest, sinking with the pain of an epiphany.  _It's not possible._

Severus wasn't sure how to feel. Anger and excitement warred with despair and exultation, but disbelief overrode them all. He found he could not speak as everything he knew about his world was turned on its head and he stared openly down at the girl who had wreaked havoc on his life in two short days.  _Hermione._  The corner of her mouth tipped up in a tiny smile. "I am sorry to tell you," she said in a voice that only hinted at their secret, "but you may find that you've made less progress than you think."

A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind in the space of a moment. It had all been real. He had unwittingly seduced the object of his own desire and it was too late to dissolve that connection. She was here. The real Hermione Granger had not turned away in disgust at the thought of him. She had allowed him to…  _Oh Gods…_  But she must have known what he believed. And yet she had made love to him. Somehow, she had snuck past his façade of indifference and disdain and cuddled up in the open wound of his heart. There would be no removing her now. Funny, but that thought seemed to lift away his loneliness.  _Hermione_  was there.

At a later time, anger would take hold of him. Then joy. For now, Severus felt too much to feel anything at all. He stepped toward her, almost without thinking, and raised a hand to the skin of her cheek. She really was his, then. Perhaps he had known all along.

Albus's impatient voice broke the stillness of the air. "Severus?"

Blinking, Severus withdrew his hand and stepped back from the girl. But before he turned away, his eyes grew hard and he lowered his voice to a menacing growl. "I will deal with you later," he told her in a dangerous tone. He almost smiled at the panic that sparkled in her eyes.  _Silly girl._  Didn't she know she had nothing to fear?

Severus Snape would never harm his Hermione.


End file.
